


Equilibrium

by setoboo



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cole is more human, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Solas' Orb, The Fade, ending spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setoboo/pseuds/setoboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Drowning, soaring, fire in the veins. Solas kneeling on the ground, he laments.<i> ‘It was not supposed to happen this way,’.</i> She knows, magic burning in her. <i>‘Gather the pieces, we can fix it.’</i> She says. She <i>begs</i>. He leaves instead.</p>
<p>She used the Orb to kill Corypheus and it broke. Shattered. Sixteen pieces on the ground. Solas left because the magic left. But it didn’t! He left, but the magic didn’t! The Orb shatters but the magic stays! It stays and it <i>burns.</i>”</p>
<p>---------------<br/><i>A story about an innocent looking relic, friendship, love, and the terrifying uncertainty of Godhood.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this beautiful thing is based on my head-cannon for Solas' Orb and the final line your Inquisitor can say if you pick "Maybe we can fix it" on the wheel. 
> 
> Be prepared for a lot of love for Cole. My precious confused spirit-human baby decided he needed a lot of involvement. As did Dorian.
> 
> Yes this is a fix it. Yes, there will be reunions and smuts. Do not fret my gentle lambs.

“Cole, I must see the Inquisitor. I’m afraid I must ask you to move.”

The spirit barely looks up from where he’s sitting. Knees to his chest and idly playing with the fine blue rug beneath him as he blocks the path to Elora Lavellan’s room. He rocks from side to side rhythmically, his patchwork jacket gliding soundlessly across the polished wood of the Inquisitor’s door. Cullen can only just make out one pale, red rimmed eye from behind even paler blond hair and the shadow cast by his hat. Staring at the Commander as he teases another blue thread loose and adds it to the little mountain of fibers he is building.

Cullen can’t be absolutely sure, but judging from the growing number of threadbare spots in the rug and the impressive size of the spirit’s thread pile. He would hazard a guess that Cole has been sitting in front of the door for a very long time indeed.

“She’s sleeping.” Cole whispers, ducking his head back down so his hat blocks all of his face from view. Spinning an azure thread between two fingers before depositing it gently onto the others.

Cullen can’t help but frown at the ‘teenagers’ quick dismissal. “That’s what you told Josephine earlier. Hours earlier in fact.” Cullen crosses his arms and watches with interest as Cole finally stops picking at the rug. Every muscle stops moving and the spirit takes on an unnatural stillness that marks him as something otherworldly despite his benign appearance.

“She was sleeping then too.” Cole answer is muffled, face angled more so he’s talking to the stone floors then to the man hovering over him.

“Cole that was this morning. It’s well past noon now!” Cullen splutters. The Inquisitor has never slept so late in all the months he has known her. She is a self appointed ‘morning-person’ and usually one of the first to awake in the castle. Beaten only by some of the servants and maybe the sun itself.

“I know.” The spirit nods shortly, acknowledging he heard what Cullen has said but does not look up. Seemingly fascinated once more with the carpet and it’s growing holes.

“Well sleeping or not, she is needed in the war room. The threat of the world ending may be gone, but we certainly don’t lack for people clamoring for our attention even now. So please, let me pass.” Cullen tries to keep the frustration out of his voice, but he never has been good at dealing with the Inner Circles more ‘colorful’ members. For Elora he tries though, she has shown him remarkable kindness and understanding in the short time they have worked together. He would not wish to repay her by being rude to one of her companions. Not even the ones that make his hands twitch towards his sword and his teeth ache from clenching against words long beaten into him by the Chantry. No, he does not want to be cruel. Not even to the spirit masquerading as a harmless lad.

Cole stills again and doesn’t look up as he gives a weak, but clear, “No.” in answer.

"No?” Cullen repeats back, flabbergasted at the pointed refusal.

“She’s sleeping.” Cole says again, even quieter than the first time. He wraps his arms around his legs now, unwilling to look at Cullen.

The Ex-Templar feels frustration growing at an alarming rate inside himself. He tries very hard to always keep a veneer of calm when interacting with everyone, and while he’s getting better as the Lyrium leaves his systems. Cullen knows he has maybe a handful of minutes before his mounting frustration becomes misplaced withdrawal-laced anger.

“Then you go wake her up.” He growls. Proud it’s only that and not the white-hot words that want to come roaring out.

“I can’t.” Cole’s voice breaks on the words, and finally he looks up.

Cullen is instantly taken aback by the look of utter despair on Cole’s face. Never has he seen the spirit actually smile, but neither has he seen him frown so severely. Seen his thin lips quiver and his normally pallid face blotchy around the nose and sunken eyes. Cole’s stillness shatters with those two words and suddenly the wan teenager is shaking harder then a leaf in a storm. He reaches up and balls his fists into the soft leather of hat in obvious anguish and just stares at Cullen as words suddenly come pouring out of his pale pink mouth.

“Drowning, soaring, fire in the veins. Solas kneeling on the ground, he laments. _‘It was not supposed to happen this way,’_. She knows, magic burning in her. _‘Gather the pieces, we can fix it.’_ She says. She _begs_. He leaves instead.”

Cullen lets the words wash over him with something akin to dread starting to form in his belly.  Everyone knows that Solas’ departure hurt Elora. Leliana, Josephine, and yes, even himself, have all wasted plenty of resources looking for their missing Fade expert. She never commanded they do this for her, but each advisor had agreed to do it anyways.

Cole continues on, voice growing in pitch and speed. Distress painting his words as they come tumbling out. “It’s darkness, drowning. Brightness that sinks beneath the waves. The Anchor drags her down.” Cole whimpers here, biting his bottom lip before plowing on. “The Anchor was killing her. She knew. It didn’t scare her. Didn’t hurt her. She knew and didn’t want help. I didn’t know!” He wails, letting go of his hat to bury his face in his hands.

“Cole! she’s...she’s not...surely.” Terror, pure and black blankets the Inquisition Commander’s heart. The thought alone nearly too much to contemplate. After everything she has accomplished she could not be...dead. Not because of the one thing that had saved Thedas.

“No, no, not dead. Dying. She was dying. Sinking and drowning, pulled down. Her brightness breaking and spawning more lights in the dark. She would shatter and fill the void with stars. A thousand little bits of her.” Cole drags his hands away and he looks a little more composed, but not by much. He looks at Cullen and begins to speak rapidly again. Trying to get the man to understand his babbling. “Then the fight comes. She stole the Anchor from Corypheus, but he had the Foci still. Stole that from him too. They are the same but different. The Anchor was light but dragged down. Darkness, but not scary. The Foci was dark but went up. Light made of fire and ash. A frightening inferno”

Cole hiccups, and Cullen is horrified to see actual tears come pouring down the spirits blotchy face. “She used the Orb to kill Corypheus and it broke. Shattered. Sixteen pieces on the ground. Solas left because the magic left. But it didn’t! He left, but the magic didn’t! The Orb shatters but the magic stays! It stays and it _burns._ ” Cole rubs at his eyes to wipe away the tears, but continues to speak clumsily. Trying to explain in a way that Cullen can understand but just not able to find the words he needs for such a task.

“She is pulled down to shatter, and up to burn. The little lights break off and char instead of live. Burnt edges and smokey tears. _‘Gather the pieces, we can fix it.’_ But he left.”

“Cole! Is she okay, is she hurt, just tell me that much!” Cullen interrupts the spirit’s rambling. He knows the lad is saying something important. But it’s all gibberish to him, all he’s managed to gather is that the magic Corypheus used is….fighting? With the magic of the Anchor? Burning her or something. With Solas involved somehow in all of this.

“I helped, but it wasn’t the right _we_. Not her and _me_. Her and _him_. They could have fixed it together. Fixed it right and put it all back in the Orb. _We couldn’t put it back_.” He keens. “We fixed what we could but now...now she sleeps. I can’t wake her up.” He whimpers. Pale eyes glazed with tears as he stares directly into Cullen’s own panicked orbs.

“So she’s stuck asleep and you didn’t think to tell anyone?!” He roars, catching the entire hall’s attention as his voice carries down.

Cole flinches in the face of his anger. “I promised. I promised her and I’m breaking it. She said to leave it be. Too dangerous to get everyone involved in it. Let her sleep. _Ma Din’Uthenera_. Her fake endless dream. One last thing for her to get wrong.”

Cole rapidly starts to uncurl and climbs to his feet. His form hunched to make him seem smaller. Likely to disappear any moment. “She begged me to let her sleep and I tried, but I can’t.” He fiddles with his hat and looks everywhere but at Cullen’s furious form. “I see it, feel it, I remember. Blackwall was right, remembering hurts. I just want her to be okay.”

Cullen shoulders the spirit out of the way and throws open the door to the Inquisitor’s room. Sprinting down the walkway and taking steps two at a time in his haste to see her. Cole makes a little punched out noise from deep in his throat but doesn’t try to stop him. No, he follows on the Commanders heels. Just as quick but deathly silent in comparison to the heavy thudding of Cullen’s armored boots on the wood and stone steps.

Her room is no different from what he can tell. The balcony doors are closed and the curtains drawn which is an oddity. It’s darker certainly, only shards of light coming through the artful stained glass that had come from Serault and the dying fire casting the faintest orange glow.  

The only things that stand out in the gloom is the innocent looking stone orb, riddled with cracks and faults sitting on the desk. And Inquisitor Lavellan. Who for all intents and purposes seems to be peacefully sleeping. Wrapped in the ridiculously opulent duvet and comforter that had been a gift from some Lord or Bann, likely for saving them from something.

Her eyes are closed, her sooty black lashes the only color against her fair skin now. Her face is startlingly bare. She had seemingly lost her tattoos just days before Corypheus attacked and no one has managed to get the story of their disappearance from her. She looks so much younger without the sprawling green branches crowning her forehead and framing her eyes.

“ _Inquisitor_.” He whispers, coming closer to the bed. Elora doesn’t even twitch at her title. Breathing even and deep, no sign of having heard a thing.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen tries again, voice a little louder and coming to a stop at the side of the obviously Orlesian styled bed. Gilded and gaudy as it is.

When she doesn’t respond again he gently shakes her shoulders. Nothing. He shakes her a little harder and calls her by her title. Then her name. Calls her Herald and Worship and all those fancy things that make her nose wrinkle in distaste. Yells them when she doesn’t respond with even a disgruntled snort.

Her breathing remains even and deep, the smallest tug of a smile on her lips but entirely lax otherwise.

Elora is well and truly asleep.

“Cole.”

Cole appears at Cullen’s side before he even finishes saying the spirits name. Eyes red-rimmed but alert. His need to help is nearly tangible. Cullen can see it in the way the spirit’s body tilts towards the bed. Like he wants to crawl into it and curl around the slumbering elf. Burrow himself into the bedding and take the cursed sleep from her by bearing it himself.

“Go find Dorian and Madame de Fer, bring them here without delay. Understood?”

“Yes.” Cole answers, and then is gone between one blink and the next. It is easier to remember he exists now. Certainly he is less prone to popping in and out of your sight. But his ability to vanish has not suffered it seems.

Cullen takes a seat on the empty sofa and waits. Eyes draw to both his slumbering friend and the innocuous relic in the corner.

“It just never ends.” He grumbles. “We clean up one mess and instantly step in something worse.”

He can feel a headache coming on.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Cole finds Dorian first.

The Tevinter mage is reading in the library. He likes it there. With the glass window that faces away from the glare of the morning sun, but lets him see the sunset dye the snow-covered mountains beautiful colors each afternoon. Dorian has squirreled away all the tomes and journals he likes into his overflowing shelves, or stacked what wouldn’t fit in the shelves upon the hardwood floor surrounding him. Some stacks make it all the way to mid-thigh level. Once is as tall as Varric is. It makes the rest of the library look strangely empty since almost everything is stuffed into this one cramped space.

Cole thinks he’s sort of like a bird. A magpie. Dorian takes things to build his nest. Little things, one at a time, until he’s content and everyone is left wondering how he managed to pack everything into such a tiny area. Also, much like a bird, he notices immediately when someone has been rifling through his space and his wrath is much worse than some pecking and shrieks. Although that can be involved too.

The original wood and leather chair that graced the corner has long since been replaced with a soft chair done from top to bottom in crushed red velvet. With pillows and cushions stuffed full to bursting to make the lavish item an even greater luxury.

Dorian is sitting in his chair, enjoying the warmth and light from the sun starting to slip through his window and sipping wine. Something sweet, meant for a dessert since he hates dry or bitter drinks unless he’s trying to get drunk quickly. He’s flipping through a journal but not really reading it. Internally debating if he should go out to the tavern and harass Iron Bull, or if it would be too embarrassing with all the Chargers there to see them _‘flirting’_.

He’s happy right now. It’s a warm feeling that Cole wishes he could leave the mage to. Because he’s either going to be very mad or scared in a moment.

Dorian is Elora’s best friend. He wears the title with pride, and delights in telling anyone who will listen that he’s the Inquisitor’s favorite. They bonded over magic and family pressures. Of not being what was expected of them and wanting to change their people for the better instead of letting the Dalish and Imperium crumble from within. It also has a lot to do with her laughing at his jokes and being righteously indignant on his behalf when anyone tries to insult him based on his heritage. He does much the same for her of course. No one has dared to even whisper “knife-ear” in Skyhold since Dorian enacted his own special brand of vengeance on the last person to do so.

Cole likes it when Dorian is happy. When he laughs at bawdy jokes, and when he laughs about how he’s best friends with an Elf and dating a Qunari. Laughs as he says _“I’m literally the worst Tevinter ever.”_  but Dorian doesn’t care about being a bad Tevinter, because he’s so very happy with what he is _now_.

He doesn’t want to break the man’s good mood, but he knows he has to.

“Dorian.” He murmurs, peaking into the mage’s self designated hollow. Physically restraining himself from fidgeting as he waits for the mage to acknowledge him. Cole doesn’t know where he learned to fidget but he wishes he could unlearn it.

Dorian looks up quickly at being called, but the minor surprise vanishes from his tanned features when he sees the spirit. Instead a wry smile breaks out and he closes the journal he wasn’t really reading. “Ah Cole, is it time for the awkward question of the day already?” He phrases it like he doesn’t care either way, but he does. He likes that Cole comes to him for answers, especially now that Solas is gone.

Dorian is very mad at Solas.

“No.” Cole answers, trying to banish any thoughts of Solas. He misses the Elf a lot, almost as much as Elora does. Now is not the time to think about him though.“You need to go to Elora’s room. Right now. Please.”

Dorian’s good mood vanishes like ice under the midday sun.

“Why? What happened?” The mage doesn’t wait for Cole to answer before tossing his journal to the ground and nearly tipping his bottle of wine all over the floor in his haste to pull himself out of the velvet vice of his chair.

“Cullen’s there, he’ll explain. I need to find Vivienne.”

He vanishes and sprints away to find the other mage Cullen wanted.

Dorian doesn’t waste anymore time than it takes to pick up his staff before he sprints down the curved staircase. He nearly hits Varric when he throws open the hall door in his haste and Ignores the Dwarf yelling “Where’s the fire, Sparkler?” after him as he bolts down the main hallway and past the _Andraste-burning-because-that’s-not-creepy-or-anything_ throne.

He’s pleased to see the door to her room isn’t even fully closed. It means he doesn’t have to stop, just shove it out of the way and continues to sprint like a dragon is about to roast his well-toned ass.

“Cullen, what’s happened now? Cole is being exceptionally vague today.” The question is out of his mouth before he even clears the stairs.

Dorian is suddenly met by the strange sight of Elora’s room dark in the middle of the day, his best friend sleeping away in the bed he had convinced her to indulge in and buy, and Cullen massaging his temples like he’s valiantly fighting off a coming migraine.

Well, he doesn’t see any Red Templars, Fade Rifts, or Demons in here. So it is a step up from what he had been mentally preparing for.

“And here I was hoping you would be able to translate for me.” Cullen mutters. The Commander sighs and moves to stand up. “From what I was able to gather from Cole, and please do keep in mind I am absolute rubbish at keeping up with his....interesting way of talking. Something happened with that Orb over there.” Here he points to the corner desk, and Dorian’s eyes instantly land upon the restored artifact. The one he knows was nothing more than shards a day ago. “What happened I don’t really get. The Anchor was killing her or not killing her. Then she killed Corypheus with the Orb and it broke. And that is somehow linked to Solas leaving because of magic leaving or something to the effect. But he wasn’t supposed leave and the magic burns her or drowns her. That part was really confusing. So she and Cole tried to fix it but they couldn’t and now she won’t wake up.”

Dorian isn’t sure whether he wants to strangle the Commander or beat his own head on a banister at the explanation.

But.

“Wait…” Dorian gapes. “She won’t wake up?”

“No, I tried everything short of slapping her and pouring cold water. Cole says he can’t wake her. Thats why I told him to grab you and Vivienne, this is a magic something or other. A magic something or other that deals with the anchor and Corypheus’ Orb. Templar training doesn’t really cover this.”

“I’m afraid if you say _‘magic something or other’_ again I may very well become ill.” Dorian snarks back absently. His mouth mostly on autopilot as he wanders over to the relic.

He doesn’t dare touch it, not directly, but glides his magic over the pockmarked stone. It feels just as empty as it had when it was nothing more than shards wrapped in a piece of off-white fabric that Dorian is _sure_ had been one of Solas’ shirts. It’s still hollowed out and barely held together with the little magic he can sense on it. Definitely Elora’s magic, but that's all it is. Just the tiniest resonance to tell him she had attempted to mend the Orb, but she certainly did not manage to restore it. There are cracks as big as his thumb nail running down the center. and spiderweb fissures cover the stonework even where it didn’t originally fracture.

He looks at his friend peacefully sleeping, and frowns.

“I think we had best wait until Vivienne and Cole arrive. I have a few questions to ask before I will feel safe doing anything to her or the relic.”

Cullen flops back on the white couch and nods in acceptance.

Dorian wanders over to the gold and marble framed bed. She had hated it originally, thought it beyond garish and not worth half the coin the merchant wanted for it. Her tone had only changed once he convinced her to try the mattress that came with the overly opulent bed-frame.

She had given into buying it without much fuss after that. Something he took endless joy in teasing her over.

Elora looks ludicrously comfortable for being in a magic induced coma.

Dorian can’t help but shake his head and massages the bridge of his nose in frustration. “What have you managed to step into now my friend.” He mutters under his breath.

Cullen’s bark of laughter startles him out of his ruminations and his eyes dart up. Silently asking the other man what he finds so funny.

Cullen doesn’t bother to answer, he just laughs a little quieter and continues to massage his temples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, as you can see Dorian got a little away from me. I really liked his character, and he sort of melted my heart and the end of the game when he straight up called me his best-friend and said he wasn't going to leave me. I was very touched lol.


End file.
